ENTRY 008: AN APT PUPIL

Dear Diary,

You’d think I’d be desensitized to strange customers by now. Talking swords, cursed mirrors, a broom that won’t quit—I’ve seen it all. Or so I thought.

It started with a nervous-looking lad wheeling a statue into my shop. He was all twitchy movements, darting eyes, and the kind of sweat that says, I need an adult. The statue itself was about five feet tall, solid gold, and intricately detailed, from the ornate robes to the stern, disapproving expression on its face.

Whoever—or whatever—had crafted it was a master.

“I, uh, thought you might be interested,” the kid mumbled, barely able to look me in the eye.

I leaned closer, taking in the statue’s fine details. Too fine. Something about it felt… wrong. And that’s when I noticed it: the eyes.

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They moved.

Not much—just enough to make me freeze. The cold, golden pupils tracked me as I circled the statue. My stomach sank. This wasn’t just a statue. This was someone who’d been turned into a statue.

I glanced at the lad. He was doing a poor job of pretending he wasn’t about to pass out. The story practically wrote itself: an overeager apprentice alchemist, a botched transmutation spell, disastrous consequences. His “priceless golden statue” was his master.

And judging by the frozen expression on its face, the master had been mid-yell when it all went down.

The kid cracked under my stare, the confession tumbling out in a frantic mess of words. He hadn’t meant to do it (classic!). It was an accident (uh-huh). He’d panicked (sure thing). Reversal spells were too expensive (that's actually true). Maybe he could pawn the statue, get the gold to fix it, and—

I cut him off with a look. The plan wasn’t just bad; it was alchemical malpractice. “What were you planning to do if I melted him down for scrap?” I asked.

The apprentice paled. Clearly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

In the end, I told him to take his golden mentor and get out. I wasn’t about to get tangled up in a lawsuit with the Department of Alchemy.

Still, what a shame. That statue would have looked mighty good on my lawn.

Yours in profit,

Garren